A Rock and a Hard Place
by elbcw
Summary: 'You know what this is' he asked Aramis, 'the look on your face tells me you do. You have held out well, I have to say I am impressed, but your time is up, and you will go out screaming.'
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: Thanks for the review of my previous fiction. This one is quite dark and includes some torture, so be warned if that is not your cup of tea.

I aim to put the next chapter up tomorrow.

A Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter one

Porthos was hungry. He was looking forward to his dinner. The nobleman he had been tasked to deliver a letter to had kept him waiting whilst a reply was written. But now he was on his way, cantering along the forest road with ease. He hoped Aramis and d'Artagnan had the camp set up and food prepared.

As he neared the place he would turn off the road a movement caught his eye. He slowed his horse to a walk and spotted what had caught his attention. Two horses, tethered to a low branch of a tree a little off the road. No one was around, the horses were fine looking animals, obviously well kept. Porthos steered his own mount over to the two horses. He looked around, and when he still could not see anyone he dismounted. He carefully checked the area looking for any sign of the owners. He finally spotted a few footprints. They were heading in the direction of the musketeer's camp.

Senses on high alert he returned to his own horse, but rather than remount he walked the horse in the direction of the camp and tied it to another tree. He continued as quietly as possible. He was probably being overly cautious, but it paid to be prepared.

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The hare was still for just a few seconds as it sniffed warily about itself. The pause proved fatal as the well-aimed shot from Aramis' gun pierced its side ending its life. Aramis never really liked killing innocent creatures, but he and his friends needed to eat and he knew that Porthos would be hungry when he got back. They had agreed to meet up after completing their two deliveries before continuing the journey back to Paris together. There had been reports of attacks on the road they had to travel and they were hoping to be able to spoil the bandit's fun.

Aramis scooped up the dead hare and started back towards their camp. They had used the spot before, close enough to a stream, but far enough from the road so as not to draw attention to themselves. It was a quiet and relaxing place to spend the night with good company.

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Porthos would be back soon and he would be hungry, D'Artagnan thought as he busied himself starting the fire which they would cook their food on. Aramis was off catching them a rabbit, or something, he had been a bit non-committal over what he would be able to catch when he had left a while ago.

The fire was lit and catching well on the dry bits of kindling he was feeding it. He looked up as a man he did not know approached their camp. The man appeared to be trying to smile, but it was more like a sneer. D'Artagnan instinctively put his hand to his sword but stilled when the approaching stranger levelled a gun at him.

'I don't think so pretty,' he said, his sneering smile contorting as he spoke.

D'Artagnan spread his hands to show he was not a threat. 'What do you want?' he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

'You.'

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to reply but did not get the chance as a blow to the side of his head had him seeing a flash of white light and then the ground rushing up to meet him then nothing.

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Something was wrong, Aramis had a bad feeling, he could not work out why, but the camp seemed too quiet. He knew that Porthos would not be back just yet but there should have at least been the sight of d'Artagnan pottering about preparing the fire and sorting the horse out.

Aramis did not notice d'Artagnan lying on the ground until it was too late. Just as he reacted, reaching for his gun he saw two men pointing their own weapons. One was trained on him and one on the still form of his young friend who must have been unconscious. Aramis paused, he was caught, there was nothing he could do whilst one of the strangers was threatening his injured comrade.

'I'm glad you have made the right choice musketeer,' said one of the men. He was dressed well, not a common robber or peasant. The gun he was holding was well looked after and Aramis could not chance that it would misfire if he were to try and rush the man. He was slightly taller than Aramis and about ten years older, he carried himself upright and with authority.

The other man was a little younger and shorter, and clearly a subordinate to the first man. He was smirking at their captive, his gun wavering as he did so.

'Phillipe,' said the first man, 'much as I would have liked to just play with that pretty young thing, you hit him harder than you should have done, so I think we will have to make do with this one until he,' the man indicated the prone form of d'Artagnan, 'wakes up.'

Aramis looked down at d'Artagnan and saw the bruising and trickle of blood on his temple, he was lying on his side. It worried Aramis that the men had not bound their prisoner. Just how hard had he been hit? Much as he wanted to go to d'Artagnan's aid he knew these men were serious with whatever their intentions were.

'Practice makes perfect,' said Phillipe. He retrained his gun on Aramis, 'weapons on the ground.'

Aramis did as he was told, his gaze never leaving the older man, 'What do you want from us? We don't carry much money and even though we are musketeers, at this moment in time we have no important papers…nothing of value to you. Why don't you just leave now, before you do anything really stupid?'

He knew it was probably hopeless but if there was even the slightest chance the men would see reason and let them be he wanted to take it.

'You hear that Jean,' said Phillipe glancing at the older man, 'he thinks we want their property.'

Jean laughed and using his gun to indicate the direction he said, 'over there. My friend, we don't want your things we have a more physical plan for you and then your young friend, although you may get off lightly, so to speak, if your pretty friend wakes up soon. What I mean to say is, once he is awake we won't want you anymore.'

Aramis swallowed, this was not going in the direction he had expected. His mind raced as he tried to calculate plans of escape whilst continuing to wonder what the men were going to do to him and d'Artagnan. He hoped Porthos would get back soon, this was fast becoming a very dangerous situation.

'That will do, take off your jacket.'

When Aramis did not move Phillipe walked back over to d'Artagnan and casually pointed his gun at the unconscious man. Aramis saw that it was indeed hopeless, he had to submit to these men's demands or they would hurt d'Artagnan. He also realised that he was on borrowed time. Whilst he did not like the fact the d'Artagnan was still unconscious at the moment it seemed to be the only reason he was still alive.

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'Jacket,' said Phillipe simply as he continued to point his gun at d'Artagnan.

Aramis slowly took his doublet off and dropped it on the ground next to him.

'Good, now, do as you are told and I won't find a need to shoot your friend.'

Aramis looked at Phillipe and said, 'what is the point of threatening to kill my friend, you have already made it quite clear you are really only interested in him, not me. If you kill him surely you will just kill me as well.'

'Who said we were going to kill him. There are many ways we can harm your friend without killing him…' replied Phillipe, 'now over to that tree, back towards the trunk, hands behind you.'

Phillipe indicated a tree to Aramis' left. He walked over to it and turned his back to the trunk and did as he had been ordered, putting his hands behind him on either side of the trunk. Phillipe pulled a rope from a bag on the ground and walked behind Aramis roughly grabbing his hands and tightly binding them, the rope was wound up his wrists forcing his shoulders uncomfortably back. Aramis knew he was not going anywhere unless they untied him. He was totally helpless. Again, he hoped Porthos would not be long.

Now that Aramis was secure Jean walked over leaving d'Artagnan. He reached into the bag and pulled out a leather strap with a buckle. He walked up to Aramis and stood close enough for him to smell the man's foul breath.

'Now we can have some fun…and just think…when we are done with you we are going to do this to your pretty friend over there,' said Jean indicating the young musketeer.

Jean leaned around Aramis who realised what was happening with a sickening feeling. The leather strap was stung around his neck and the trunk of the tree and buckled tightly enough to force him to keep his head up or he would struggle to breath. These men were clearly sadistic as they both stood back and admired their work. All Aramis could do was glare at them as he tried and failed to adjust his feet to make himself even slightly more comfortable.

'Now we can begin.'

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	2. Chapter 2

A Rock and Hard Place

Chapter two

'Who said we were going to kill him. There are many ways we can harm your friend without killing him…'

The words were not ones d'Artagnan had expected to hear as he came around. Something Athos had said to him a while ago came to the front of his still addled mind. If you do not know what is happening keep quiet, and do not let them know you are aware. D'Artagnan was aware enough to know that there was an unfamiliar man standing over him, who was clearly a threat. He kept still and quiet as the adrenaline rushed through him helping him come fully to his senses.

He was aware of the man moving away and nearly shuddered when he heard him speak again.

'Now we can have some fun…and just think…when we are done with you, we are going to do this to your pretty friend over there.'

What were they going to do, and who were the talking with? D'Artagnan dared to open his eyes a crack, he realised no one was watching him so opened them fully but did not move otherwise. As he took in the sight before him he had to use all his willpower not to leap up.

Aramis was tied to a tree a few metres away; his arms were bound tightly behind him and what looked like a rope or strap had been fastened around his neck and the tree forcing him into what must have been an uncomfortable position. He did not appear hurt, but that looked like it was about to change.

The older of the two men pulled a small but sharp looking knife from his weapon belt. The metal glinted in the setting sun. He waved it about a bit close to Aramis' face. Aramis could not turn away from the blade. The man rested the edge of the blade on Aramis' cheek and with barely any pressure dragged it downwards causing a very shallow cut. D'Artagnan could tell that Aramis was forcing himself not to react to the assault, although he was breathing quickly.

'Your friend clearly wants us to get some decent practice in before we kill you,' said the other man as the older one took a step back, 'he is taking his time waking up.'

D'Artagnan quickly closed his eyes as their captors looked over at him. His blood ran cold at the statement, his mind racing as he put the information together. The men were waiting for him to wake up and when he did they would kill Aramis, but until he did it looked like they were going to assault him in some way. If he let them know he was awake Aramis would die, but if he stayed still Aramis was going to be hurt. There was no way he could get up and arm himself before the men either seriously harmed or killed Aramis. D'Artagnan knew his only option was to keep still and pray that Porthos returned soon.

He chanced opening his eyes again and watched as the taller man used the knife to cut open the front of Aramis' shirt with a sneer. Although he was trying to hide it Aramis was clearly scared, his breathing was quick which would not be helped by the strap around his neck. Although it was not tight enough to stop him breathing it was restricting the oxygen he was able to draw into his lungs.

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The knife was sharp, there had not been any pressure on his cheek as it had cut him and now it was being employed to slice open his shirt with barely any effort. He tried to remain calm, a difficult thing, when he felt so exposed, so helpless. This was not something he was used to. Normally his guns and sword were more than enough to prevent anyone bothering him. Even without his weapons he was good enough with his fists. But faced with the threat to one of his friends he had been disarmed, his weapons useless, his ability to fight even without them rendered impractical.

Could he have done anything to prevent this? His mind whirled as the knife continued to slice the fabric. Should he have been more attentive when he was returning to camp? Would this whole situation have been avoided if he had done what any good soldier should; remained on his guard? It was his fault, he should have noticed sooner that something was amiss in the camp. And now he was going to be killed and these sadistic men were going to do the same thing to d'Artagnan.

He managed to glance over at d'Artagnan who was still unconscious. A small part of his mind wanted the young man to wake up so that his ordeal would be over quicker, Aramis pushed that thought away. No, d'Artagnan must stay unaware for as long as possible, Porthos would be back soon and this would all be over. Where was Porthos, why was he not back already, had something happened to him?

Aramis realised his breathing had quickened, he was panicking. Musketeers did not panic. But then again, he was tied to a tree with a leather strap around his neck and two clearly deranged men were cutting his shirt off with a very sharp knife. Perhaps he could panic a little bit?

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Once Jean had cut open Aramis shirt he gently rested the tip of the knife against his exposed chest. D'Artagnan was really struggling to keep still. Even more so when the knife was put to use to cut into Aramis skin. The cut was shallow, much like the one on his friend's cheek. It did not bleed, it was not much more than a scratch but the implication that it could have been worse was clear.

Aramis did not react. He had managed to calm his breathing a little, which d'Artagnan took to be a good thing. The longer Aramis could hold out the better.

Again Jean sliced at Aramis, again not much more than a scratch. Again Aramis did not react. He was staring defiantly at Jean. But d'Artagnan could read the fear, he knew Aramis well enough to know when he was hiding his emotions. There were things that Aramis hid all the time, things that d'Artagnan could not even guess at, but they were there, so he knew there were layers to his friends emotions. And now fear was bubbling to the surface. Not an emotion often seen in the musketeer.

The slicing continued. A couple of the cuts were a bit deeper and had bled. But nothing serious, yet. Jean clearly enjoying his assault of the helpless man. The knife was passed between the two and each took turns with their torturous game. But as it continued Phillipe appeared to be getting bored, his turns with the knife were always deeper, not as controlled or considered as Jean's were. When Phillipe spoke, it filled d'Artagnan with dread.

'Can't we just kill him and get the other one ready?'

'Not yet, there is something I want to try, I did it to a cat I caught years ago with really quite satisfying results,' replied Jean sneering at Aramis, 'but I want to see how he reacts before we try it on the pretty one…here,' he handed the knife to Phillipe, 'since you seem incapable of cutting him without making him bleed put a couple of deeper slices into him, enough to bleed and open up the skin a bit but don't go too far, we need him to last a bit longer.'

Jean took the knife with a grin and turned back towards Aramis who had started breathing quickly again. D'Artagnan was trying to make eye contact with Aramis, but he was too focused on the men in front of him. D'Artagnan watched as Phillipe walked over to the bag and pulled out a small jar. He picked up Aramis' discarded shirt and ripped off a section fabric. He soaked the fabric with water then upended the small jar onto the wet fabric with a smile. A hiss of pain drew d'Artagnan's attention back to Aramis. Phillipe had sliced across the bound man's chest, but this time the knife had cut deeper. The cut would not need stitching but it was still deep enough to bleed. Phillipe cut Aramis again with the same result.

Aramis was panting now, clearly panicking, he was trying to pull at the rope around his wrists, which only put pressure on the strap around his neck. Aramis was watching Jean, he appeared to know what was in the jar and had anticipated what was to come. D'Artagnan hated not being able to do anything. Their options were limited and he knew their time was running out.

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Aramis could not contain the panic now, he pulled at his binding, despite knowing that doing so put pressure on his neck. He wanted to get away, needed to get away. What they were about to do to him was barbaric.

Jean looked positively happy as he approached his captive. The damp rag in his hands wielded like a weapon.

'You know what this is?' he asked Aramis, 'the look on your face tells me you do.' He turned to Phillipe, 'you will enjoy this, watch him squirm. A musketeer. Full of bravado, when he is armed and has his friends with him. Get him alone and he is nothing more than a frightened animal…and animals can be used for our entertainment. In this case with the aid a little salt,' he turned back to Aramis. 'You have held out well, I have to say I am impressed, but your time is up, and you will go out screaming.'

Jean pushed the salted rag onto Aramis skin directly onto the wounds Phillipe had just made. The reaction was instant and only intensified as Jean rubbed the damp rag along the wounds.

Aramis screamed, he did not even try to withhold it. He could not get away, he wanted to curl up, he wanted to writhe in agony but he could not. He could not escape the searing pain that flashed through him.

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There was no choice now, d'Artagnan had to do something, the screams from Aramis were too much to bear. He pushed himself up and then found the world spinning, he had forgotten the blow to the head he had received. His vision blurred and he was disorientated.

The two men had not noticed d'Artagnan sitting up, they were busy admiring their handiwork. Aramis was still crying out in pain as Jean continued to rub the salt into his wounds.

'I think it is time to shut him up,' said the older man as he finally stepped back.

The younger man nodded and d'Artagnan watched as he reached behind the tree and fiddled with the strap, he was tightening it. Aramis' cries of pain were replaced by the sound of him choking as he now struggled to breathe at all.

D'Artagnan tried to stand, he was unsteady, but he was up and looking for a weapon, he knew that he could not take both men out in a physical fight, they would quickly overpower him in his concussed state, but he could at least take out one with a gunshot, that would even out the odds. But he had to act quickly.

Aramis' discarded guns were closest, he knew they would be loaded. Aramis always kept them loaded. Grabbing the guns, he turned back toward the men who were watching his friends tormented struggle for breath.

He must have made a noise as they both turned towards him. The younger of the two men smiled and began to advance towards d'Artagnan.

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	3. Chapter 3

A Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter three

Porthos was nearing the camp, when he heard the anguished scream. He stopped for a moment shocked at the sound. Pulling his gun from his belt he carried on towards the camp at a faster pace.

The screaming stopped quite suddenly, the silence almost as deafening. Porthos reached the edge of the camp and took in the scene. Aramis was tied to a tree with what looked like multiple injuries to his chest, he appeared to be struggling to breath, a strap or rope tight around his neck and the tree. Two men were looking over to the left where d'Artagnan was stood bringing two guns up to aim at the two strangers. As one of the men advanced on d'Artagnan he fired. Porthos wasted no time in firing his weapon at the other man. Both collapsed. Dead or dying. Porthos did not care, as long as they were not getting up again. He dropped his spent weapon and charged towards Aramis.

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Pulling his knife from his weapon belt as he ran he reached Aramis in seconds. Quickly cutting the strap and then grabbing at the rope, not bothering to try to untie it he cut through it. It still seemed to take forever.

'He's not breathing,' gasped d'Artagnan. Porthos had not even been aware the young man was there, he was so focused on his task of cutting his friend free.

D'Artagnan was holding the unconscious man's head up and gently slapping him. Porthos got the rope free and Aramis simple tipped forwards being caught by d'Artagnan and gently laid on his back. Porthos was beside them. He reached out and shook Aramis who remained inert.

'No,' d'Artagnan said quietly, 'not like this.'

Porthos continued to shake his friend refusing to accept that he was dead. Replaying the last few minutes in his mind, could he have done anything different? He did not think so.

The sudden intake of breath by the seemingly dead man made them both jump. The initial joy Porthos felt was replaced by shock as rather than taking more life giving breathes Aramis began crying out in pain and weakly clutching at his chest. The man was clearly in a lot of pain and not fully aware that he was now safe.

'Aramis!' Porthos said firmly trying to still his friend's arms, he was likely to cause more damage to his chest by rubbing at the wounds. Porthos looked at d'Artagnan who for a few seconds was puzzled by their friend's actions. Then a look of understanding appeared on his face.

'The salt,' he said as he quickly rose and ran over to their bags.

Aramis was still crying out in pain. Porthos wanted to help his friend but did not know what to do. He pushed Aramis into a sitting position and got behind him clutching the still struggling man to his chest in an attempt to keep him still. Aramis continued to moan in pain and struggle against Porthos' grip.

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D'Artagnan returned with a water skin and some rags. He began pouring the water onto Aramis' chest and as gently as he was able due to the movement of the injured man wipe away the blood.

'They rubbed salt in.'

The simple statement answered Porthos' quizzical look. Porthos held Aramis still as d'Artagnan continued his ministrations. The pained cries died down as Aramis calmed. His breathing was still fast, but despite the bruising to his neck he seemed to be getting enough oxygen.

'Has he passed out?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan looked up at the marksman, 'no… Aramis, are you with us?'

All Aramis could manage was a pained moan in between quick breathes. His eyes were unfocused.

'Have I rinsed it all off?' he asked putting a hand on the injured man's shoulder to get his attention.

Aramis nodded and closed his eyes still panting.

'I'll get some bandages, I don't think any of the cuts need stitching but we should get them dressed.'

Porthos watched d'Artagnan go. He continued to hold Aramis against him and the injured man did not protest. His breathing was still fast but he was calming down and seemed to be aware of his surroundings.

'Porthos?'

The word was barely more than a whisper between quick breathes.

'Yes, Aramis, I'm here. You're OK now. D'Artagnan is just getting some bandages. Just keep breathing steady.'

'The men?'

'Shh…they're dead, not gonna bother you anymore.'

Aramis was about to speak again but Porthos cut him off, 'quiet, you need to save your voice, you had me worried back then, thought I'd lost you…don't do that again.'

'OK, I'll try,' came the quiet reply.

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D'Artagnan walked over to Aramis' bag and pulled out the medical supplies. He looked back at his friends. Porthos still had Aramis in his arms, a brotherly display of love and worry. For Aramis to remain leaning on Porthos was testament to how hurt and exhausted the man must be.

'How's he doing?' asked d'Artagnan as he returned, kneeling next to the two musketeers.

Aramis appeared much calmer and more focused. He looked up at d'Artagnan and managed a pained smile.

'Better,' he said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

'No talking,' said Porthos firmly, but the relief was evident as he spoke. He looked at d'Artagnan, 'what the hell 'appened?'

D'Artagnan paused a moment before replying, 'they wanted to hurt me, I think one of them knocked me out and I was still unconscious when Aramis got back from catching our dinner. They forced him to submit to them or they were going to kill him and hurt me…' he trailed off struggling to recount the events.

'Go on,' prompted Porthos.

'I woke up and realised what was going on. I couldn't stop them. They were going to kill him when I woke up…I had to keep still…' d'Artagnan paused again, 'I'm sorry,' he said looking at Aramis.

Aramis caught hold of the young man's hand and squeezed it, 'you had to,' he whispered.

D'Artagnan did not reply, he began sorting out some bandages. His mind was racing, he felt to blame, he felt he should have made his move earlier.

'Hey,' said Porthos as if he were reading the young man's mind, 'you did the right thing. It must 'ave been difficult, but you did the right thing.'

'I know, but it was so hard to watch what they did. I felt to useless.'

'From the sounds of things, you kept him alive,' said Porthos reaching out and putting a reassuring hand on the musketeer's shoulder.

This time d'Artagnan nodded and smiled. He knew they were right. It had been an impossible situation, but it was over now.

'Let's get you sorted out,' he said indicating the bandage he held, 'can you sit up, it will be easier.'

Porthos helped Aramis to sit up and despite wincing in pain he managed to remain upright as d'Artagnan began dressing the worst of the cuts. Once he was finished Porthos helped Aramis to stand but kept hold of him as they made their way back towards the fire. With some difficulty, they got Aramis into a clean shirt and lying by the fire with a blanket over him.

He was asleep in minutes.

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'He'll be fine,' said Porthos to d'Artagnan who was still preoccupied with the day's events.

They were carrying the body of the older attacker away from the centre of their camp, they unceremoniously dumped the corpse alongside the other man. Porthos had collected his horse and those of the dead men. They had searched both of the bodies but could not find any identification on either.

'What I don't understand is why? What were they getting out of it? We had nothing to offer.'

'From what you've described I think they were just sadistic bastards,' said Porthos as they walked back to the camp, 'some people are strange that way. Getting their entertainment from hurting others. You said they were well spoken?'

'Yes,' replied d'Artagnan, 'they clearly had wealth…were they just bored?'

Porthos thought for a moment, 'I don't think I want to know.'

D'Artagnan knelt beside the still sleeping Aramis and gently lifted the blanket to check the dressings. Satisfied he recovered the injured man and turned back to the fire. Porthos had found them some food, bread and cheese. They settled down to eat.

Porthos looked over at Aramis as he moaned in his sleep and began moving and breathing harder. D'Artagnan quickly moved to their friend's side and gently shook his shoulders, 'Aramis,' he said as calmly as he could, 'Aramis it's ok, you're safe now. Just sleep.'

Aramis stilled and his breathing evened out. D'Artagnan rearranged the twisted blanket, once satisfied his friend was no longer in distress he turned back to Porthos who had been watching young man.

'We'll make a field medic of you yet,' he said with a grin, before continuing to eat.

D'Artagnan smiled back, 'thank you,' he said, 'but I still feel guilty, could I have done anything differently?'

'You will be faced with many seemingly impossible situations in your life d'Artagnan,' said Porthos, 'and you will always wonder if you made the right decision. In this instance, you did. It was difficult and we still nearly lost 'im but if you had reacted differently you might both be dead…'

Porthos paused watching the young man process what he had just reiterated to him. Once he was satisfied that his words had sunk in he stood up.

'Now. Sleep. I will take the first watch,' he said firmly.

D'Artagnan did not argue.

The End.

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.

I had original planned on having the sadistic bastards as bandits but after a bit of research into the history of salt I found that it was quite the sought-after commodity at the time. So, it would be more likely that someone with money would be happy to frivolously use it for their evil entertainment.


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